hiding in a blur of emotions
by nuitbleue
Summary: Vesper Lynd finds herself in need of something she cannot have. Not now, not yet. But her longing shows. (Vesper/James, set sometime during Casino Royale). Drabble/Oneshot.


_I don't truly know where this came from, but I hope you enjoy it. Readings or comments are always wonderful! :) The title is taken from the song "I Can't Say No" by Lea Rue. Vesper and James are one of my three favourite fictional couples and I am sure I will be writing more for them sometime._

hiding in a blur of emotions

It begins.

She always recognises it instantly.

Each time resembles another; it always starts with her whole being sinking, as though torn downwards, down her chest and lower, below her waist.

For a long time she has thought of it as something akin to hunger, mostly because that is what she has heard it is supposed to be like.

But recently she has figured out it is not quite this, no hunger.

To her, it is a liquid feeling or the absence of it – it is thirst.

She is not hungering for anything. If at all, she is thirsting for it.

When her being begins to sink downwards, in a rush first, then slower, her heart reacts. Erratic is what its beats are now, as though it is about to leap out of her chest.

She almost fears it will, each time. By that time, she is dazed, hazy.

She feels her body in need of support now, a handrail or the touch of – another.

It is a heady sensation, this haze her madly beating heart creates and she relishes it although she knows better than to delve deeper into it. One step too far and there is nothing more to come with an erratically thumping heart.

Her heart is long overcome by now as her body responds.

Her being, already summoned somewhere below her chest, seems to twist itself inside out, tightening as though all she is fits in this confined space between her ribcage and her hipbones.

Instinctively, she suppresses a gasp as the familiar heat begins to pool in that small, confined space that withholds all her senses now.

Heat spreads, stretching out over her, claiming her effortlessly and she is sure the skin on her waist would be tangibly hot there if she touched it now.

She hides another audible reaction to this ever-growing sensation as that small, confined space her whole being seems captured in begins to throb with an urgency that degrades the dizziness caused by her erratic heart to a mere side-effect unworthy of any more attention.

The feeling safely and steadily sinks lower until it is below her waist and between her hips and the assembled heat throbs there, tightly clenched.

It takes up all her feeble concentration and a composure that seems inhuman to her now not to cross their distance right away.

She stays seated in that chair, unable to look into his eyes any more, not even trying to focus on his words because she knows with overwhelming certainty she has long lost the meaning of their conversation and it takes all her willpower to even stay where she is.  
Also paying close attention to what he is actually saying would have made her implode.

The tightening, ever-pulsating knot of heat between her hips throbs with new-found, steadily growing urgency and she can't help but internally furrow her brows at it in faint amazement.

What's wrong with me? She asks herself, the words almost out on her lips.

"Are you still listening to me? Miss Lynd…?"

He is trying to get her to look into his eyes again and this time she does, relying on his gaze rather than his words which she has not had the nerve to comprehend anyway.

"Yes", she manages to say, finally, right before his outstretched hand would have touched her.

"Yes, I'm listening."

His gaze at her deepens with her shaky words and she makes an effort to resist the urge to scream in need and helpless frustration.

What's wrong with me?

"Alright", he replies at last, unmoving, not even lifting his eyes off hers.

"I do think we should get that receipt now."

She manages to nod courtly, politely.

The feeling spread below her waist remains relentless.

Can he not just take away all their tension, could he not just untangle the mess, not with words, but with his touch, loose the tightening knot that keeps throbbing with urgency where she cannot control it?

But then, she is the complicated one of them both.

He walks her to her door in their suite and neither asks nor mentions anything.

When she lies in bed hoping for sleep that will not come until long into the night, a mean, disruptive little voice tells her:

You don't fear anything as much as kindness. The one thing you can't handle is affection.

And when she finds sleep at last, his face fills her dreams until she sees it again the next morning.


End file.
